


Slipping & Pulling

by bookish_cupcake



Category: Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, fear toxin, pre-slash (Bruce/Clark)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6942565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookish_cupcake/pseuds/bookish_cupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shaken by fear toxin, Bruce pushes through the nightmare with a little help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slipping & Pulling

Slipping & Pulling

In the moonlight, Gotham is dazzling. She shines like the glitz of diamond dusted jewelry. Elegant, not gaudy. Like many of the criminals that make Gotham their home, her appearance is deceptive. She is preoccupied with glitz and glam, a mother barren of any love for the children nestled inside her. Without the moonlight, she is only darkness. She provides a blanket for bloodied gang wars and the desperate.

I am pass the belief that I can tame her, for I know she will not yield to man.

But I can survive her.

.

Scarecrow eludes justice. My body aches. My mind spins and turns. It takes all the power within me to push the drug fueled nightmares away. I need to focus. I need to return home before Gotham notices my weakened state and eats me up alive.

The street lights flicker like fireflies.

I push my body against a wall. I've made it to an alley. The darkness of it welcomes me, calls me home. I can hear screams, and I remind myself that it's most likely the fear toxin. I hear my mother.

I try focusing on the fireflies instead.

.

Robin-- _Nightwing_ \-- is lifting my body up. I must be heavy on his shoulders, but he makes no indication as we make it to the Batwing.

Blues, grays, and black blur across the bleeding night sky. The city screams beneath us.

He remarks that I'm handling the fear toxin well.

My lips move. I'm unsure if I answered.

Inside my mouth, I can only taste my parents' blood. Warm, metallic, rotten.

Without warning, hot flashes race across my skin. Everything is boiling like the sun. I yank off the cowl. I hear Dick somewhere in the background, reminding me to breathe. I try. The polluted air fills my lungs. Everything _burns_.

He keeps talking. I can no longer make out what he's saying. I dare not look at him. I fear how the toxin will twist him.

.

We land. Alfred greets us instantly.

He is all bones without the withered skin. He is the deteriorated end result of thankless years of servitude. His bones strip me of my suit.

I think I'm speaking again. I don't need their help. I've destroyed their lives. They ignore me.

I still can't look at Dick.

.

I'm in a bed, somehow. When did that happen? I look down. The stitches weak themselves along my skin like a web. I can't tell if I'm supposed to be the spider, or if I'm caught in Gotham's web.

There's an IV with the antidote in one of my veins. I squeeze my eyes shut. I drown out the screams and mouth apologies.

.

I awake in a daze. My body still doesn't feel whole. I feel as if my head is floating away.

I try to focus. I need to be Batman. I need to be as unyielding as Gotham-- for her citizens and for my makeshift family. I often forget that I am human. I forget that Batman is also Bruce Wayne. I forget that my body is fallible.

I blink. Trying to focus on my surroundings.

A bulky figure stands beside the bed, far too imposing and broad to be Dick or Alfred. I squint in an attempt to focus on the colors. Blues and reds. Clark Kent. The antidote must be working for the fear toxin hasn't distorted him yet.

Or perhaps this is the illusion of dreams?

He is the only one I can trust outside of family. But please, let this be a dream. Do not let him see me in this weakness.

The Man of Steel, so good and pure, the savior of Metropolis and the Earth. I want to open my mouth. I want to tease him about being the ultimate boy scout. It's hard to move. Yet, the urge is there. To poke at him for being essentially goodness incarnate, for cherishing each life, even my own.

The IV drips.

My rock, I think. When I am not solid and whole, he is here in chiseled glory. He is color and brightness and light.

Clark shakes his head. His gaze leaves me for a moment, turning to the lead lined vault containing kryptonite.

Of course.

As much as Batman needs Superman, Superman needs Batman. Both incomplete and unbalanced without the other's pushing and pulling. In case Superman ascends to high, someone will need to bring him back down to earth. In return, I see a splash of sunlit beauty that's uncommon in Gotham.

I do not deserve it, but I need it.

.

Clark disappears. As do the shadows of Gotham.

Dreams shift into the next reality.

If we did not walk down the path of the cape and cowl-- if we were not drawn together by necessity-- would we still be tangled in each other's lives?

My dreams allow a sliver of hope.

 

 


End file.
